


As We Do

by QueenSabriel



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, also mention of past legolas/orophin, also more of a friends who sleep together ship than romantic ship, aragorn has feelings, legolas has tattoos, pwp with a hint of plot, two towers missing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 05:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15965846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSabriel/pseuds/QueenSabriel
Summary: Passing moments before and after Helm's Deep





	As We Do

Blood always ran hottest on the eve of battle, enflaming tempers, sparking all emotions to rising infernos. That was all this was. Aragorn had seen it before and felt it too, had seen the best of friends snap at each other in the heat of it all, but still.

But still. Frustrated, frustrated, and Legolas speaking to him like he was a child had not helped. So the fury and frustration had built and built and burst forth with harsh words.

Except in the middle of it all a passing thought, an image before his mind’s eye of his hand tangled in the elf’s silver-blonde hair, yanking his head back—for what?

That was a thought he did not wish to pursue. He closed his eyes, baring his teeth, growling at himself as he rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.

Blood always ran hottest on the eve of battle.

His mind slipped back down into the armory (for what?). More dangerous, less wise—that was the saying about the woodland elves. How many times Elrond had tossed those words out when speaking of Thranduil. Legolas himself was plenty dangerous, and was not afraid to show it, rounding on Aragorn with a flash of that wildness that ran in his veins, his hair flying, his eyes catching the torchlight and reflecting it back like those of a cat, for a brief moment pupils dissolving into discs of impossible brightness.

_Leave it_ , he told himself sharply. _You will make amends and it will be fine._

But oh, by Eru’s name was he restless. Adrenaline burned an insatiable itch through every inch of him, so much that he stood, flexing his hands and wondering if he might be better served going down to the yard where they were giving last-minute training to the men and boys not used to holding weapons.

Where there was no adrenaline, there was doubt, and that was ten times as painful. It was very easy to blame Legolas for seeding that doubt as well though the reasonable part of Aragorn knew his friend was not responsible for this, he had just read it on Aragorn’s own face.

There was little privacy to be had in Helm's Deep. He went back to the armory, hoping to find some back storeroom with a window that looked out somewhere that he could see the sky. He needed to calm himself, calm his blood, calm his mind. This was not the sort of fury he should carry to the battlefield.

He sensed Legolas coming down the hall before he saw him. They were alone, though as always there were the sounds of other men from other parts of the building and outside, and the clang of steel. Legolas came to a stop in front of Aragorn and the two gazed at one another.

"I do not wish to fight," Aragorn said, holding up his hands.

The corner of Legolas' mouth twitched, then twisted into an infuriating smirk. "Then perhaps you best go elsewhere, Ranger, I hear there will be a great deal of fighting here before we next see the sun."

Aragorn should have laughed and let it go. But he could not, and again he felt that same thrumming rising within him. He dragged his lip between his teeth, then let out a breath. "I also do not wish to jest."

" _Ai, Estel_ ," Legolas said. He reached out to put a hand on Aragorn's shoulder but Aragorn's hand shot out, catching the elf's slender wrist.

"You do not want to be around me, not now," Aragorn said. He could feel Legolas' wrist turn in his grasp, muscles flexing, but he did not let go.

Legolas let out a breath, pursing his lips. "Why? We had words; was it truly that troubling to you?"

"It was not only…" And though Aragorn trailed off, he could tell that yet again his friend was too perceptive. "I do not wish to hurt you. I did wish to hurt you, for just a moment; I do not want that."

"Battle lust makes beasts of us all," Legolas said. "It is best to release it."

"I plan to," Aragorn said, turning away. "On the battle field. Preferably by driving my sword through an orc."

Legolas stepped around him, blocking his way. Aragorn scoffed, attempting to move past him, but the elf moved with him, remaining in his way. Any lingering amusement was quickly fading, to be replaced with that pulsing heat of fury building in his chest again. "Are you trying to anger me?" he asked.

"Very much so," Legolas said, flashing his teeth in a grin.

"Wood-elves are as mad as they say then," Aragorn said. He reached out to push Legolas back by the shoulder, only to find his arm grasped this time, his whole body pushed back against the wall. Legolas' lithe form belied his true strength.

"Very much so," he said again, leaning in, so close Aragorn could smell him, could feel the strange coolness of his skin. "But practical, also."

“Not the word I would have chosen.”

Those teeth again, flashing in another wide grin, and his eyes, pupils blown wide in the dimness of the corridor, ringed with deep green, staring intently into Aragorn’s own. Wood-elves, or perhaps just Legolas, seemed to thrive on contact—how often had he seen Legolas and Gimli sleep tangled together like lovers, though easily, as though it were the most natural thing in the world to them? And yet there was more of a driving purpose in the way he leaned into Aragorn now, the fingertips resting lightly against Aragorn’s chest somehow keeping him pinned against the wall.

But then the elf’s expression changed, softened, and when he spoke it was a gentle, soft whisper. “I am here,” he said. “We may bicker but my love for you is great, Aragorn, this you know. I would not see you lose yourself.” He put his hand to Aragorn’s cheek then. “I know men pride themselves on detachment but often that does far more harm than good.”

The breath Aragorn let out trembled as it went.

Then Legolas stepped back, showed him a last, glancing smile, and walked away.

Damned elves.

***

There was a reason the Rohirrim celebrated so hard after a victory. Without anywhere else to go battle-born adrenaline was a deadly thing, best to let it free itself with drinking and dancing and other things. And so there was a feast when they returned to Meduseld, the ale flowed freely and voices lifted in raucous laughter and song and by midnight even Aragorn was feeling the effects of it.

Eowyn had been trying her best to catch his eye all night but he was not capable of giving her what she truly sought, not tonight certainly when he was still hot blooded from the battle and he would spare her that.

Nursing another full tankard Aragorn looked around, the room swimming before his eyes then focusing on a flash of pale skin amidst the brown of the Rohirrim. Legolas, seated sideways at one of the benches so he could rest his arm on the table, shirtless, while one of the men of Rohan leaned close, attentively doing something to his shoulder.

Aragorn walked over, putting all his effort into not crashing into anyone.

Tattoos, colorful, complex, and strange covered a great portion of Legolas’ body. A dragon curled around his left bicep, its head on his shoulder, Tengwar letters spelled out names and prayers across his ribs, pictures and abstract designs swirled together and as Aragorn circled around he could see that the man working on Legolas’ shoulder was adding a Rohirric horse to the story painted across the elf’s skin. Pippin was sitting cross-legged on the table watching the ink-dipped needle with fascination, his face set in a sympathetic grimace though if Legolas felt any discomfort he did not show it.

Green eyes flicked up to meet Aragorn’s. Legolas greeted him with a wide smile. “What say you?”

“Beautiful,” Aragorn said. He tilted his head to admire the horse, then said to the young man applying it, “You have great skill.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the young man said. His cheeks were flushed, though Aragorn did not think that had to do with either his compliment or the ale. Indeed, glancing around at the crowd of onlookers, he could see a number of admiring eyes on Legolas’ bare torso. Aragorn lifted the mug to his lips to hide his quiet laughter.

Legolas looked up at him and winked.

***

He lost track of time, but still the celebration wore on, people became more comfortable, too comfortable, which meant that he needed to be careful. Abandoning his cup rather than refilling it, Aragorn slipped from the main hall to the room where he and the others had been sleeping. The room was bare of furniture, but all their various bedrolls and furs were laid out on the stone floor, packs piled beside them. Aragorn did not actually know what he was looking for but out of habit he went over and knelt beside his.

He did not hear anyone enter the room but he did not jump when hands rested lightly on his back, then moved to his chest as Legolas wrapped his arms around Aragorn’s shoulders, leaning over him. “Retiring already?”

“Nay,” Aragorn said with a laugh. “Merely catching my breath.”

Legolas clicked his tongue and only then did Aragorn realize just how close the elf’s lips were to his ear. “Catching it? I had not realized you’d done enough to lose it.”

“You, on the other hand,” Aragorn said.

Legolas hummed. One hand slid down, slender fingers splaying against Aragorn’s chest, and despite himself Aragorn inhaled heavily through his nose.

“Will you let me help?” Legolas breathed.

Heat rose, creeping through Aragorn’s body. Many found elves’ nonchalance towards sex surprising; he had been raised among them and was plenty aware. It was not just elves, either, traveling with the other men of the Dúnedain he had certainly…

Legolas’ fingers toyed with the ties of his tunic, slipping under to stroke his skin. Aragorn tipped his head back against his friend’s shoulder, lips parting.

“Carrying so much tension without release is not good for you,” Legolas continued, now tracing the line of Aragorn’s collarbone.

Aragorn let out a breathless laugh. “You think I have difficulty with finding that?”

The elf laughed, a low and throaty laugh so different from his usual one. Then, abruptly, Aragorn found himself spun around and pushed back against the bedroll and fur blankets  under them, Legolas kneeling, one knee between Aragorn’s legs. He pressed closer and Aragorn let out a soft breath, feeling the elf’s desire hard against his thigh.

So this was not a completely selfless gesture. There was, undeniably, something very enticing about being the object of an elf’s lust, no matter how frustrating they had been earlier.

Except he too had thought about this, he could admit that to himself now, and with a smirk he reached up, tangling his hand in Legolas’ hair, tugging his head back to expose the line of his throat, leaning in to bite at the smooth skin bared to him, wanting to mark it not from possessiveness but rather because Legolas was too composed and he needed to see him, to feel him falter.

And so he bit down, right where neck met shoulder, tugging Legolas’ head to the side and the elf let out a hiss that ended on a groan. Then he put one hand on Aragorn’s chest, pushing until he leaned back on his elbows, watching through half lidded eyes as Legolas tugged Aragorn’s tunic free of his waistband and pushed it up to expose the planes of his stomach.

Legolas gazed down at him for a moment and the tip of his tongue poked out, wetting his lips in a brief and yet completely lascivious movement. Aragorn reached up, closing his hand around Legolas’ upper arm and pulling him down, down into a bruising kiss that was all open mouths hot and insistent against each other, and Legolas’ lips twisting into a smile as he shifted and reached between them, hand finding the hard length of Aragorn’s sex and stroking it through his breeches.

“Not bad, for a man,” Legolas murmured, still smirking.

Aragorn yanked Legolas’ head back again and looked at him. The elf smiled back, lips parted and swollen from Aragorn’s own. He swallowed, his slender throat tensing with the movement.

“What is your desire, Elessar?” Legolas whispered, tongue and lips curling around the words and sending a shiver down Aragorn’s spine.

“I want you naked, prince of Mirkwood,” Aragorn murmured back. “Naked and riding me until we, neither of us, can think straight.”

Legolas’ eyes darted past Aragorn to the doorway open onto the hall. “Here?” he breathed, feigning surprise and doing a poor job of disguising his own pleasure at the thought.

“Here,” Aragorn growled, smiling and in the moment happy to play along. “What care have I if someone sees? I am a king, I have fought hard and am allowed to take my pleasure as I will. Besides,” he paused, leaning in and tracing the smooth edge of one pointed ear with his tongue before continuing in a whisper, “I see how others, men and women alike look at you, with hunger and desire. Let them see and be envious.”

Legolas threw back his head and laughed, a wonderful, free sound full of heat and mirth. Then, still grinning, he leaned back and pulled his tunic off, flinging it aside before pulling Aragorn to him in another deep kiss.

Aragorn pressed into it, tongue sweeping into the other’s mouth, his hands running down Legolas’ back, over smooth skin and taut muscles. Legolas’ own hands cupped the back of Aragorn’s head, fingers curled in his hair.

Like a starving man so far gone he had forgotten his own hunger, Aragorn had not realized how badly he had craved the touch of another’s skin against his own like this.

Tilting his head, Aragorn looked to where a piece of soft bandage covered Legolas’ fresh tattoo. A faint stain of ink already showed through the linen, but not much. Aragorn leaned over, kissing Legolas’ shoulder.

“Your tenderness always surprises me,” Legolas murmured, tipping his head back and letting out a throaty sigh as he moved his hips a little, rutting lazily against Aragorn.

Aragorn lifted his head. “I believe I told you that I wanted you naked, elf.”

There was that laugh again, crackling through the air like sparks after lightning. Now Legolas leaned back to his elbows, lifting his hips and looking back down at Aragorn pointedly. Aragorn leaned forward, grabbing the waistband of his leggings and tugging them down, leaning in to kiss his breastbone, his stomach, just below his navel, feeling his back arch and hearing the pleased groan he let out.

Aragorn drew the garment down the length of the elf’s slender legs and then any thoughts of anything were driven away by the sight of the creature sprawled out before him, head tipped back, silken hair spilling over the furs beneath him, pale skin flushed and arousal very, very obvious.

The tattoos he could see now continued down Legolas’ body, one swirl of color curving over his hipbone and down to twine around his thigh, the bright blue of a river in spring. Aragorn touched the start of it on Legolas’ left side and traced it with his fingers all the way down. Then he leaned in to kiss him before murmuring, “Oil?”

Legolas gestured with a careless hand towards his pack.

Aragorn laughed. “Were you planning this?”

“I was planning something, _hir nin_.” Still reclining on his elbows, Legolas tipped his head to watch Aragorn as he scrambled over to root around in the pack for a moment until he found a small bottle and brought it back over.  Then Legolas reached up to tug at Aragorn’s tunic. “Don’t you want to feel me? Besides, _that_ —” he paused to cast a pointed look down to where Aragorn’s own arousal pressed against the material of his trousers “—cannot he comfortable.”

“Patience,” Aragorn said, smiling slowly. He sat back and beckoned to Legolas, who immediately moved to sit in his lap, legs wrapped loosely around him. Aragorn kissed him, taking his time, hands wandering over Legolas’ body. After a moment he leaned away, lifting his arms to allow Legolas to finally slip his tunic off over his head. “Better?” he asked.

“Mmm.” Legolas grinned, running his fingers greedily over Aragorn’s broad, muscular shoulders and down his chest. “Very.”

Aragorn turned a little opening the bottle and letting the cool, slick oil drip onto his fingers. He wasn’t sure what it was, and lifting his hand briefly to his nose discovered it had a light, fresh scent, was slick without being sticky.

Guessing his intentions Legolas shifted to his knees, leaning forward against Aragorn and burying his face in the side of his neck. Aragorn wrapped one arm around him, supporting him as he reached down with his other hand to begin to work the elf open, his breath hitching as Legolas shuddered at the feel of his fingers inside him.

“ _Aiya,_ ” he sighed, like the start of a prayer.

The ease with which Aragorn’s fingers pressed into the elf made him smile. “Who was it?” he asked, light and teasing. “Did a burly man of Rohan comfort you before the battle?”

Legolas let out a breathless laugh, but shook his head. “Nay. It was one of my own kind I last lay with— Orophin, in Lorien.”

“Haldir’s brother?” Aragorn said.

“His kisses were sweet,” the elf murmured, closing his eyes as he rocked back against Aragorn’s hand. “And we made love in the cool starlight, burying our grief and worry in each other.”

“And what did Haldir say when he found out?” Aragorn asked, since he was certain the astute marchwarden kept a close eye on his younger brother.

Legolas smirked. “That I am my father’s son.”

Aragorn let out a laugh. “You are, very much so.”

After another moment or two Legolas turned his head, murmuring against Aragorn’s ear, “I am ready for you.”

They had to move a little apart so Aragorn could strip the rest of his clothes off. Then before moving back to him Legolas grabbed one of the furs, drawing it around their legs and hips as he moved to kneel, knees close on either side of Aragorn.

“What is that for?” Aragorn asked, though the feel of soft fur against his skin was far from unpleasant.

“You are cold,” Legolas said, brushing his fingers over Aragorn’s arm, where goosebumps had risen on his skin.

With a disbelieving chuckle Aragorn caught Legolas’ chin in his fingers and said, “That has nothing to do with the cold, my friend, but thank you.”

Legolas rested his forehead against Aragorn’s, pushing himself up as Aragorn moved his hand between them, and as he sank back again he let his head fall back as well, moaning as he took Aragorn in and letting out a pleading whimper of, “ _Ai Elbereth-!_ ”

“Bringing you to blaspheme already?” Aragorn said, but it was hard to tease with his own breath catching in his throat, and Legolas’ tight warmth around him, and the feel of his cock against Aragorn’s stomach as they pressed together.

“If you think our star kindler does not appreciate pleasure…” Legolas said, but whatever else he was going to say was lost in a soft moan as he rocked forward then sank back again.

Aragorn pushed into him, gasping, eyes closed, turning his head to find Legolas’ mouth again, teeth clicking together in their desperation. As he began to move in earnest, rolling his hips in a steady, hard rhythm, Legolas wrapped both arms around Aragorn’s shoulders, fingers digging into his skin.

Very soon the room was filled with the sound of their heavy breathing, their occasional moans poorly stifled against each other’s mouths and necks and shoulders. Then, when he could feel his release nearing, building like fire pooled in his stomach, Aragorn grabbed Legolas about the waist and pushed forward, tipping them so Legolas landed on his back with a startled moan, though their movement faltered only a little before the elf’s legs wrapped tightly around Aragorn’s waist and he was pushing into him again, and again, until with a deep groan his release washed over him and he spilled into Legolas, feeling the elf shudder against him, followed by rush of warmth against his skin between them.

For a moment they remained that way, wrapped around each other, gasping for breath.

Then, face buried in the crook of Legolas’ neck, Aragorn said quietly, “You ride well, Master Elf.”

Legolas burst into quiet laughter, turning his head to kiss Aragorn’s no doubt sweaty temple. “Do you feel better?” he asked.

“Oh, I feel very good indeed.” Aragorn finally drew out of him, ignoring any mess for a moment as he stretched out, resting his head in his hand and his elbow on the floor. “Thank you,” he said.

Rolling over to face him, Legolas hummed a little, reaching over to run his fingers along Aragorn’s arm. “I do love you,” he said. “Not… not in _that_ way, but I want you to be well. I care for you, deeply. Does that make sense?”

“Of course,” Aragorn said. He reached out and cupped Legolas’ jaw in his hand, brushing his thumb over the elf’s chin. “I understand, and I love you also. None of us would be here if we did not care for one another.”

Legolas nodded, then folded his arms and rested his chin on them, gazing up at Aragorn adoringly. Then he let out an impish giggle. “I am very drunk.”

“I know,” Aragorn said, laughing as well though he pushed himself to sit up, stretching. “We’d best clean ourselves and return lest anyone worry…”

***

Aragorn slept well that night, better than he had in many nights, and when the morning came it was clear and bright, the air blowing in through the window cold enough to make him glad to be buried in the corner in his furs.

Then he caught a faint scent, the sweet, light fragrance that clung to elf skin, and a moment later he felt Legolas slip under the blanket, pressing close against his back.

“What are you doing?” Aragorn murmured, drowsy but not entirely opposed.

“Everyone else is still asleep,” Legolas whispered.

Aragorn rolled over to face him and almost immediately Legolas pulled him tight, slipping one leg between his. Letting out a shaky breath Aragorn breathed, “Are you truly this insatiable?”

“I am not the only one,” Legolas retorted.

There was no denying it either, and it hardly seemed fair how his cock twitched at the first brush of Legolas’ hand, the very memory of the night before causing him to harden before they had even done anything.

“There is a naked elf pressing himself against me first thing in the morning,” Aragorn sighed, closing his eyes, though his hands moved to Legolas’ arms as Legolas pushed him onto his back settling between his legs when Aragorn allowed it. “You would be offended if I did not respond appropriately.”

Legolas murmured in agreement, pressing his lips to Aragorn’s as he began to thrust against him with slow, lazy movements. Aragorn sighed, unable to deny how pleasant this felt, how reassuring. They took their time now, both so they didn’t make any undue noise and disturb the others in the room and also to simply… enjoy the moment. And when they came against each other it was with soft exhalations, and a light kiss after.

Then, with a grin, Legolas kissed his cheek and got up, whispering something about a bath as he wrapped a blanket about his waist and sauntered off.

Aragorn blinked and sat up, scowling after him. “Damn elves,” he muttered, a little louder than intended.

“I’m not disagreeing with you on that laddie but some of us are trying to sleep,” came Gimli’s voice from nearby. When Aragorn looked at him, the dwarf opened one eye. “Glad it worked though.”

“Excuse me?” Aragorn hissed.

“You’re excused,” Gimli yawned, scratching his chest under the blanket. “Smaug’s balls, don’t look so shocked. you’ve been a mite gloomy for the past two weeks and it really wasn’t making anything easier. I told the elf it was probably just that you needed a little attention and it’s not like he needed his arm twisted to give it to you.  You two disappear last night and he comes back all giddy then I wake up to this…”

“…Go back to sleep,” Aragorn said, pushing himself up and pulling his breeches on. “I have to go find that damned elf.”

“Aye don’t have too much fun doing so,” Gimli said, rolling over on to his side and chuckling. “We’ve got things to do, can’t have the two of you making like rabbits all day just ‘cause you remembered elves are fun to take a tumble with…”

Aragorn grunted, giving the dwarf a little kick as he passed him—though it was a light one because, well…honestly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

  



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